


body language

by fishprincessfeferi (larkgrace)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M, Mute!John, Muteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkgrace/pseuds/fishprincessfeferi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave is fascinated by John's body language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	body language

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Silence is Golden](https://archiveofourown.org/works/407062) by [wittyy_name](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittyy_name/pseuds/wittyy_name). 



> so basically "silence is golden" by wittyy-name is required reading for everyone, and i finished reading it at 10:00 pm and started writing this at 11:00 and now it's midnight and i have to take the psat tomorrow and this is crap and as you can tell i'm great at prioritizing.
> 
> i'm sorry, i just really wanted to write fluff.

Your name is Dave Strider and maybe you’re still new to this whole sign language thing, but you know body language. You know how to read your brother like a book. You know how to turn Rose’s pseudo psychoanalysis right back around and get into _her_ head, when you bother to try, which you don’t because fuck if you don’t play enough mind games as it is. You know _exactly_ what kind of vibes Jake English is sending you any time you so much as glance at John—you could probably smell his possessiveness from a mile away.

You just wish you could read John as easily.

It’s not like he tries to hide what he’s thinking; he probably couldn’t even if he wanted to, the kid’s such an open book it’s borderline ridiculous. His every emotion flits across his face, and his hands flutter when he’s excited, and when he signs to you his lips twitch as he half-mouths the words and you get fixated on them and—

Well. He’s pretty expressive for a mute guy is all you’re saying.

But the thing is that he’s _so_ expressive that you can’t follow his thoughts, because you see everything, and when he’s confused you’re confused too. With Dirk and Rose it’s easy. You know how they think, you can connect one action to the next, like one note following another, and it makes sense. But you don’t know what makes John tic, you don’t know what he tries to hide and you definitely don’t know how his head works.

You try to think through what you do know.

You know that sometimes he struggles with what he’s saying. He’ll hesitate when he’s signing, fingers hanging limp while he waits to find the right words. When he’s writing he’ll flip his pen around mid-sentence and tap it against the page, chewing on his lip and staring into space, and those are the moments when you have to look away because of how badly you want to lean close, read his half-finished thoughts, get in his head and help him find the words you want to hear.

You know that his laugh is fucking adorable, no matter how much he hates it. You know that your throat gets tight when he throws his head back and rasps, broken puffs of air escaping his lungs while he tries to cover his bucktoothed grin with his hand. You know that when he laughs because of you, suddenly _you’re_ the one who can’t talk.

You know that John’s super handsy, especially with his friends. He makes a point to hug Karkat whenever the opportunity presents itself, mostly to piss the guy off. Sometimes he’ll grab Jade’s elbow to get her attention, and his hand will stay there while he signs with the other, only bothering to let go when two hands are required to finish his words. Sometimes in Biology his fingers will brush your back and chills will run up your spine, and maybe it’s a little harder to pay attention to what he’s signing, but damn if he doesn’t have the prettiest fingers you’ve ever seen.

He _never_ touches Jake like that. You can glean some small satisfaction from that.

You snap out of your reverie when his knuckles rap against your shoulder, and he’s frowning at you from his spot on the couch cushion next to yours. Damn. He’s probably been trying to get your attention. You rub your fist in tiny circles on your chest— _sorry—_ while making the best apologetic face you can muster.

John just smiles, and signs something that you only catch a few words of. “Dude, baby steps,” you remind him, and he sighs and signs it again, but you still only catch the index and middle fingers of both his hands making a letter _x._ Something about a name. You shake your head.

He sighs even louder and makes a big show of dragging his notebook over from the end of the couch. You try not to peek at what he’s writing, because he gets pissed when you look before he’s done, and finally he holds up a page already mostly crammed with one of his conversations with Karkat. _you don’t have a sign name!_ it says.

You have to fight down a smile, because he’s really fucking cute when he’s concerned about you, and because you know he’s only ever bothered to give shorthand names to his closest friends. You don’t even think Karkat has one and they’ve been friends since elementary school.

“Well then,” you say. “Guess you’re gonna have to give me one, won’t you?”

He nods and tosses the notebook aside, then cups his chin in his hands for a while. You try not to stare at the way his teeth are worrying at his lower lip, or the way it makes his mouth even pinker than usual. You’re _definitely_ not watching his free hand pick at a loose thread on his inner thigh. Nope. Absolutely not.

You can see exactly when he comes to his decision, because his eyes light up and a grin grows across his face, and he sits up and gives you a look that makes you wonder how much you’re going to regret him giving you a sign name. Very deliberately, he raises his right hand and points his index finger straight up, his thumb and middle finger pressing together in a loop. The letter _d._

You glare at him. “Watch what you do with that, Egbert,” you warn, but he just sticks his tongue out and brings his fingers up to his face, pressing his hand against his glasses so that he can peer out of the circle he’s made with his hand in a horrible mockery of your shades. He wrinkles his nose for good measure.

“You little shit!” you yell, and tackle him against the arm of your couch. He rasps out a laugh and shoves you off, and his face is flushed and he’s grinning so wide you can practically see his tonsils and if his hand lingers against your chest a little longer than is maybe strictly friendly, well, you hope he puts your blush down to laughter.

You both sit up and he flings his arms around your shoulders in a hug. “Damn right, you better apologize, that was rude,” you mutter, but you return the hug anyway, hands resting on his lower back, and he doesn’t seem to mind.

Well, you think, as he pulls away and picks up his math textbook from the floor.

It’s a start.


End file.
